


Inhale, exhale

by RoisinDubhCosplay



Series: Just breathe [1]
Category: Chicago PD (TV)
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Jay Halstead Whump, Kidnapping, Missing Scene, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Jay, Torture, jay needs a hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:01:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25924048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoisinDubhCosplay/pseuds/RoisinDubhCosplay
Summary: His wrists hurt. It was the first thing Jay became aware of, before he even managed to open his eyes. Then the cold crept up on him. His shoulders ached, his hands were tied somewhere above his head, his feet barely touched the ground. - Missing scenes from 3x01, Jay's POV. Unabashed Jay whump. Implied Linstead.
Relationships: Jay Halstead/Erin Lindsay
Series: Just breathe [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1968604
Comments: 8
Kudos: 72





	Inhale, exhale

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Payment In Full](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13198575) by [the-wandering-whumper (water4willows)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/water4willows/pseuds/the-wandering-whumper). 



> I started watching the show not too long ago and loved that episode, in a twisted, whump-loving, Linstead-shipping kind of way. (Yes, I've come up to season 5 by now so I know that ship has sunk. But still.) I know the main focus was on Erin during that episode, but my imagination was running wild, I read a few fanfics but there weren't many that dealt with that episode, so I decided to write my own.

Jay knew he was screwed the moment Derek raised his gun and aimed it at his brother. He held his hands up placatively, tried to calm the situation, but every muscle in his body was taut. He could feel the hairs on his neck stand up.

The sound of the silenced gunshot echoed like thunder in his ears. For a millisecond he could only stare at Benji’s lifeless form on the ground, at the pool of blood forming underneath him, at the tiny hole in his forehead. His eyes darted to Derek, and the man didn’t even blink. There was no sign of remorse, no emotion at all.

He just killed his own brother.

Jay’s reaction was pure instinct. He pushed his bag at one of Derek’s men and tried to swing at the other. He couldn’t run away, not unless he could get hold of a gun, or he’d be dead before he’d reach the door. He grunted in pain as a fist collided with his side, he dodged a blow, struck one man straight in the face and managed to deal a hefty blow to the other’s chin.

The searing pain came from nowhere. Jay gasped and stumbled. Suddenly his arms were pinned behind his back; he struggled and tried to kick out, then he heard the whirring sound again before he felt it.

His whole body writhed against the strong hold of a pair of arms; he tried to fight back but his legs gave way. He cried out before he could stop himself, more of a whimper than a cry, and his vision blurred at the edges. The pain flared up again, ran through his body like wildfire, and then his back was pressed against the concrete floor, his limbs unwilling to function. His eyelids fluttered, blackness crept in from the periphery of his vision. Someone tore at his shirt, and then –

* * *

Harsh words, a running motor. A rattling sound. A sharp pain in his shoulder. Jay registered all these before he managed to pry his eyes open. He couldn’t stifle the quiet groan when the van hit a bump in the road that jostled his aching body and made his head collide painfully with the floor. Click. He craned his neck and found himself staring down the barrel of a gun. He gritted his teeth and tried to calm his breathing. He was still alive. If they wanted to kill him, they would have done so already. He pulled lightly against the restraints that were binding his wrists behind his back. His shoulders protested against the unnatural position and as he shifted, the stabbing pain at the side his chest flared up.

“Don’t try anything stupid.”

Derek crouched down before him, gun in hand, and involuntarily Jay tried to back away.

“You and I, we’re gonna have a little talk.”

“Where are we going?”

“Somewhere private. I wanna get to know you, you understand?”

Jay pressed his lips together. He understood. And he hated that somewhere, deep down in his gut, a spark of fear made itself known.

There was a reason he was still alive. If he could only buy himself enough time, the team would find him. They’d get him back. Hank wouldn’t let him down. In his head, Jay repeated these words like a mantra. He tried to ignore Derek and focused on his surroundings. The car wasn’t going too fast. If they didn’t want to draw attention, they would abide the speed limits. No interstate then. There were no windows, so he paid attention to the noises. A train. They were near the tracks. He didn’t even know what to do with the information, he couldn’t contact the team. Maybe he was just trying to distract himself from the fact that he was nervous. Tied, in pain; just the memory of the zapping noise made his stomach churn.

During the car ride Jay tried to gather as much information as possible. It was as good a distraction as any; he registered every bump in the road, every screeching of tires, and when the car stopped at what he supposed was a red light he thought he could smell gasoline, but it was gone again soon. All the time he avoided Derek’s gaze.

He had a very good idea of what was going to happen next. He knew the reports. He could only hope that he’d be capable of dealing with it.

The van screeched to a halt. The sudden stop made Jay stumble forwards. Derek grabbed him by the shoulder with his left hand. With his right, he pressed the gun against Jay’s temple.

“Out.”

The door opened and Jay was pushed forward, towards a huge house that would have been impressive under different circumstances. Now, it was nothing but a prison. Jay couldn’t help it; he struggled against Derek’s grip and tried to gain his footing on the path leading towards the entrance. Everything inside him screamed to not enter that house, but it was in vain. Something connected with the back of his head and stars exploded before his eyes. The resistance became sluggish and he was dragged along.

The door opened silently and fell shut with a bang. An icy chill ran down Jay’s spine. There was something finite about the closing of the door.

“Interrogation room. I’ll join you soon, but you may start without me.”

With these words Derek finally released his iron grip on Jay’s shoulder. One of his men took his place before Jay could even think of bolting towards the door.

“Let’s find out who you really are,” sneered his captor. “Ten bucks says he’ll sing before the boss comes back, you in, Rick?”

“Just get the job done, Kris.”

Jay couldn’t quite stifle the gasp when Kris’s fist connected with the bruised area below his ribs. It wasn’t really a reaction to the pain, though – he knew their names. He knew their names, and they didn’t care.

Jay fought back.

He kicked at Kris, the tip of his boot found the man’s kneecap. He spun on his heel and drove his shoulder into Rick’s chest. Both stumbled, Kris let out a string of curses and raised his gun. Jay rolled off of Rick, who didn’t even move. A shot echoed within the hall, he could almost feel the bullet fly by and miss him by an inch, and Jay was back on his feet in an instant, crashing into Kris and sending him to the floor. The gun flew from his hand. He kneed him in the groin, feeling a grim satisfaction when the other man cried out.

The grin froze on his face when he felt the familiar metal pressed against his head.

“Go ahead,” he said through clenched teeth. “Pull the trigger.”

He held his breath. Wondered if he should pray, for once, better to be safe than sorry.

He thought of Will. And Erin.

Then his skull exploded and he fell into blackness.

* * *

His wrists hurt. It was the first thing Jay became aware of, before he even managed to open his eyes. Then the cold crept up on him. His shoulders ached, his hands were tied somewhere above his head, his feet barely touched the ground.

He was slapped across the cheek and his eyes flew open. He couldn’t quite stifle the gasp, a reaction more to the slap itself than to actual pain. The guy named Kris stood before him, Rick was to his right, merging with the wall, and Derek stood, arms crossed before his chest, on Jay’s left. He looked pissed. Jay shivered involuntarily. He was acutely aware of the fact that his shirt was missing, and it was that thought that made his stomach lurch. He could deal with injuries, he could take a beating, but somehow the idea of Derek’s men taking the shirt off his unconscious body made his skin crawl.

“Who are you?”

His training kicked in. Name. Rank. Unit. He knew the drill.

“Halstead, Sergeant, Rangers.”

He was a soldier of the US Army. He was strong, and resilient, and unafraid. He would not deliver information. He’d sworn an oath and he’d die to fulfil it.

“You’re a soldier?”

He knew the drill.

“Halstead, Sergeant –“

Rick’s fist came flying; this time he could feel a rib crack. Every shallow breath sent twinges of pain through his chest.

“Who do you work for? The army doesn’t give a shit about us. Don’t lie to me boy.”

Jay tried to take shallow breaths.

“Hal –“

“Don’t fuck with me!”

Jay heard the awful noise of the taser and his pulse quickened. The memory of the airport was still too fresh in his mind. He’d been told, back in training, that the worst part of torture wasn’t necessarily the pain. It was the waiting. It was the minutes and seconds before, when you didn’t know if you would be able to withstand.

The electric current cackled; he could feel the heat mere milliseconds before the fire spread across his skin. One second, two seconds, three – a quiet cry escaped his lips. Faintly he heard Rick’s sneer as he tried to focus on something else.

Derek’s face was inches away from his own.

“That wiring on your chest – who was on the other end? FBI? CIA?”

Jay tried to turn his head away.

“Don’t make this harder on yourself, boy.”

A subtle nod, and Rick stepped forwards again. In the dim light of the basement Jay could see the two rings on the man’s index and middle finger. Instinctively he struggled to get away, but his feet barely found momentum on the ground. His wrists were already chafed where the duct tape had dug into the skin.

“Fuck you,” he managed to say before Rick’s fist smashed into his ribs and the air left his lungs with a hallow sound. For a moment he couldn’t breathe; he gasped desperately, once, twice, but instead of oxygen he only tasted fire. He screwed his eyes shut for a moment – just breathe, damnit – and when he opened them again he could see a few drops of blood on the concrete floor.

He lifted his head and looked at Derek.

“You’re making a big mistake. Might be your last.”

He gave his best to sound as threatening as possible. For the blink of an eye, Derek wavered. Jay seized the opportunity and took a couple of deep breaths. Play for time. Hank will get here.

But time was a bitch. It seemed to drag on endlessly. He attempted to keep track of it by counting in his head.

Twenty-one. Twenty-two.

His head snapped to the side. Pain blossomed in his cheek and he clenched his teeth.

Twenty-three. Twenty-four. Twenty-five.

Steelcapped boots crashed into his shin, right below his knee. His leg gave way.

A blow to the head, and he lost his footing; the ligaments in his shoulder joints protested in agony, his feet stumbled, he heard the sizzling sound of the taser and wondered if cattle in a slaughterhouse closed their eyes, too.

“I want names.”

“John. Paul. Ringo. Geo –“

His jaw shattered; he felt blood on his tongue and saw tiny sparks dancing before his eyes. The familiar blackness crept up on him, and part of him welcomed it. But Derek grabbed him by the shoulders, his fingers dug into Jay’s muscles.

“Who do you work for?”

Jay groaned as the iron grip became stronger and sent sparks of pain up his already aching arms.

“He’s a cop.”

Jay’s uneasy breath caught in his throat. Kris was standing in the doorway; he hadn’t even seen him coming in. He had to be more vigilant. The man approached Derek and showed him something on his phone.

“I sent his photo to some buddies of mine like you asked. One of them recognized him. Worked on a crime scene couple of months ago. Chicago police department.”

The satisfied look on Derek’s face made Jay’s skin crawl. Instinctively he tried to back away, but his feet still barely touched the ground and his body protested again his useless twisting.

“A cop. Ain’t that sweet. Officer Halstead.”

“Detective.”

Jay all but spit the word out.

“I hate cops.” Derek had a glint in his eyes that hadn’t been there before. “The police thinks they’re all high and mighty but in truth, you’re just a bunch of corrupt, racist assholes who turn a blind eye when it suits you and let people rot in prison who never should have been there in the first place.”

“Cause you’re a sentinel of innocence, huh?”

While he spoke, he could taste his own blood on his tongue.

“At least in my department it’s all about honesty. Loyalty will be rewarded. Disloyalty will be punished.”

“Like you did with your brother?”

“I didn’t have a choice. You signed his death penalty when you came for him. That’s on you.”

Jay spit at him before he could form a coherent thought. He watched, almost mesmerized, as his own blood dripped from Derek’s cheek.

It dawned upon him that he’d signed his own penalty. Surprisingly, he didn’t panic. His eyes flickered to the gun in Derek’s waistband. He thought of Will. Someone would have to tell him.

But no shots were fired. Derek wiped the blood off his face, slowly. Kris and Rick stepped forward.

“My brother was a traitor. This whole city is filled with traitors. I want their names. All of them.”

The CIs. It made sense, Jay thought. The CIs were the most potent weapon of the police department.

He thought of the countless men and women he’d talked to on the streets, in alleyways, in shabby bars and behind dumpsters. Most of them didn’t do what they did for themselves, but for the families.

Jay clenched his teeth and shook his head. Forced himself to stare Derek dead in the eye and say one word.

“No.”

It didn’t come out as brave as he’d hoped it would, and Derek just smiled dangerously.

“You see, that is not really an option, boy. You have ten minutes.” He pointed his phone at Jay. The small light of the camera went on. “You’ll give me names, or I’ll find someone who will. Or rather, who might – depends on how loyal the Chicago PD is, I suppose. Tell me who to contact and this’ll be over soon.”

Kris stood before him, smirking. His first blow hit Jay’s ribs. He stifled a yell; he wouldn’t give them the satisfaction. A blow to the head made his eyes water. A fist to the stomach. He felt the bile rising up in his throat.

The panic came after all.

Don’t throw up. Just don’t throw up. He thought of his team, imagined them watching all this, and he felt sick. He was helpless and vulnerable and at his captors’ mercy. They shouldn’t see this. It wasn’t him, not the Jay they were supposed to know.

The electric prod cackled; Jay’s breathing hitched. The current entered his body, like an endless wildfire it spread through his veins and set his blood ablaze.

The Jay they knew didn’t scream.

The Jay in the basement did.

When Kris and Rick finally retreated, Jay’s breaths came in short, pained gasps. His vision was swimming; he knew that if they cut him loose now he wouldn’t even make it out the front door. The light of the camera had gone off.

“Who do you work for?”

Rick was suddenly behind him. Jay could feel his breath on his neck and his fingers running up his arm. He kicked out, weakly, and Rick dodged it easily. For a moment Rick’s hand lingered on Jay’s wrist, where the skin was raw and probably bleeding, too. Jay shivered under the touch. Then the hand crawled further up. He couldn’t help it. He closed his eyes, just for a split second.

Derek slapped him across the face.

“I can send this video to the police front desk. Put it on Youtube for the world to see. I know a lot of people who’d pay good money to see me beat up a cop. But I want information. You’ll tell me who can give it to me.”

A subtle nod, just a small movement of the chin. He could as well have yelled an order. Jay held his breath. Braced himself for the punch that was sure to come. Instead, he felt Rick’s grip around his little finger.

“No, no, fuck –“

Rick pried his fist open. White hot agony cursed all the way from the tip of his little finger down to his toes. Jay heard himself screaming, but it was muffled; the vision blurred at the edges, blackness crept in. He vaguely registered that Rick grabbed his ring finger now. The pain in his little finger had turned into a dull throbbing, but he could feel the bones grating against each other when he moved. He could even hear it. Was that even possible? The echo of his scream was loud inside his head.

“Voight. Hank Voight.”

He barely recognized his own voice. He didn’t even know where the word came from. It was but a raw whisper, and it made him sick. Derek smiled.

“That wasn’t so hard now, was it?”

Jay’s head dropped forward, as heavy as lead. The small movement sent a sharp pain through his skull. His stomach did an unpleasant flip.

Concussion, probably.

His ribcage ached with every labored breath he managed to take.

Derek spoke into his phone, but his words were too quiet for Jay to hear. Kris and Rick stood with their arms crossed before their chests. Even in the dim light Jay could see the red stains on Rick’s knuckles. Derek leant against the wall and eyed Jay from across the room.

“Knowing my errand boys, we have at least half an hour before my little deal package reaches the PD and I can make the call. If anyone answers, that is.”

Rick chuckled. Jay focused on a spot on the wall where the paint had been chipped away.

Derek sighed almost apologetically.

“Don’t make it too hard for yourself, boy. Just give me some names, and we’ll call it a night. Cooperate, and you won’t rely on your cop buddies to save your ass.”

Jay pressed his lips together. Those were empty words; Derek wouldn’t let him go. He knew the deal – he had to give Derek a reason to keep him alive. As long as he kept his mouth shut, he was safe. Or as safe as he could be.

Derek shrugged and nodded in Rick’s direction. The small movement was enough to make all the aches and pains in Jay’s body flare up in memory of the past hour. He forced himself to take even breaths. Tried to ignore the way the dried blood tugged at his skin when he moved too much. He grunted when Rick’s fist came flying once more; he felt blood on his tongue when he stifled a scream as the prod sent the fire through his veins again.

He’d been in pain before. He’d been beaten, shot, caught in explosions – he’d been through it all and came out on the other side. He clung to those thoughts, and when he couldn’t remember anymore how it felt to not be in pain he conjured up those who had always been with him through it all.

Will. Erin. Mouse. 

Will, again and again, he couldn’t lose him, not like that.

His vision was fuzzy, his breathing labored, but still he saw the face. It was just so damn hard to focus when his insides were melting.

Erin, always Erin. 

He shouldn’t have waited that long.

She was gone.

Gone.

The beating ceased. The prod was silenced. He could barely see, everything was swimming before his eyes, the blackness crept up on him and this time he welcomed it. Blackness was good. Blackness was painless. Rough hands pulled at his body, he stumbled forwards, suddenly free and on solid, yet shaking ground. His legs refused to move. Hands on his waist, his back, blood rushed back into his fingertips like a waterfall hitting a rock. A low cry escaped his lips before he could stop it. Someone pushed him and he staggered like a drunk, trying in vain to turn the blurry shapes into figures. A blinding light – so cliché, he thought, before he realized that it was just a door to a brightly lit hallway. Another door, this time he could see it, another push and he crashed to his knees. His head exploded into a million fiery stars that took his breath away. He had to get up, get away, but he remained where he was, on all fours, and somewhere through the mist and the pain and the tight feeling in his chest he heard Derek’s voice.

“Enjoy your stay, Detective. I hope for your sake that they’ll send someone tomorrow morning, and that she’ll bring the files I asked for.”

 _She._ Oh no. No, no – they’d sent Burgess, she’d even volunteer, stupid, brave Burgess, no –

Bile rose up in his stomach. Through bleary eyes Jay spotted a bucket in the corner of the room, and he crawled unceremoniously towards it, not a moment too soon.

He retched for what seemed like an eternity, and every time his stomach clenched the pain in his head flared up again and for a moment even dulled the aching of the rest of his body. In the end he was shaking; he wiped cold sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand as he collapsed against the opposite wall, as far away from the bucket as possible. Finally his surroundings became more focused.

The room was small, windowless; a naked light-bulb flickered above Jay’s head. A storage room, probably. It was empty but for the bucket, which Jay realized was most probably meant for other uses than collecting vomit. It was a good thing, then, that he hadn’t had his usually double coffee before going on this mission.

He spotted something by the door. Groaning, he pushed himself off the ground and made the three steps towards it on shaking legs. He grimaced as he recognized his shirt.

“Thanks for the courtesy,” he mumbled.

He bent down and picked it up; when he straightened again the dark spots were back, so for a moment he just stood there, the fingers of his good hand gripping the familiar fabric, the other hand on the wall for support. The little finger was twice its usual size, the bruise on the joint and the red chafing on his wrist a stark contrast to the wall. Jay took a careful, shaky breath: it hurt, but it was manageable. He didn’t dare to move too much, though, so he took the time to assess his status.

There were tiny marks all over his body where the taser had touched the skin; his ribcage held all shades of light pink and red that would surely soon turn violet and blue; he couldn’t see his face but he felt the dried blood tugging at his skin and winced when he prodded the area around his eye. No broken jaw or nose, so he had that going for himself. Jay took only shallow breaths to not strain his ribs further. He suspected that at least two of them were cracked, if not broken. He tried to recall everything he knew about internal injuries, but ultimately had to rely on the facts. He didn’t cough up blood, there were no suspicious bruises indicating internal bleeding; he was going to be alright.

Unless he ended up with a bullet in his head.

He shivered, and not only due to the cold. Hesitantly he began to put on the shirt. Putting his arms through the sleeves took him much longer than usual. The strain on his arms and chest was something he endured with gritted teeth. He winced when the fabric was pressed against the bruised skin as he moved his arm; even the small touch was hurtful in his current state. He tried his best to ignore it. He’d been through much worse, after all.

He started to button up the shirt, slowly, with trembling fingers and sweat on his forehead. By the time he had managed one third of the way, his vision swam and he leant with his back against the wall. The upper buttons were missing, probably ripped off during the fight at the airport. He didn’t even mind. His hands were trembling; he probably wouldn’t have made it anyway. 

Before he knew it, Jay found himself sitting on the floor, back pressed against the concrete, eyelids dropping closed as if he could thus shut out the mess he was in. Of course he knew that he had to stay awake, stay alert, but it was easier said than done when sleep might be the only way to escape the permanent aching that came with every shallow intake of breath. He wondered what time it was. How much time he had left before the trade.

He tried not to think about the fact that he might not even see the light of day again.

Jay had been on the other side of these situations many times. He knew all the strategies, all the loopholes; he knew the team members and their tasks and he trusted them with his life. They always had his back, each and every one of them.

How could he have Burgess’s back when he was in this state? He was defenseless, weakened, so how could he possibly keep her alive? Again he felt the pit in his stomach. He swallowed hard on the bile rising in his throat. The black spots started dancing again; maybe he really had a concussion. It wasn’t the gut feeling of a trade going wrong that had him feeling sick, he told himself.

Everything was going to be alright.

He couldn’t live with himself if anyone got hurt because he couldn’t handle his own.

He flinched when he heard footsteps. He was on his feet in a heartbeat, panting heavily and pressing a hand to his ribs as the door opened. He took a step backwards away from the door. He hated the way his heart was racing; the memory of the last hours was still fresh in his mind, he thought he could hear the snapping sound of his finger breaking.

But Rick didn’t even enter the room. With his right hand pointing a gun at Jay, he placed a carton of water onto the floor and eyed Jay from the distance.

“Courtesy of the chef,” he said with a slight sneer that made Jay’s skin crawl. “Enjoy.”

The door was slammed shut before Jay could even come up with a witty comeback.

The water was more than welcome. Jay hadn’t even realized how thirsty he was, so he had to stop himself before he drank it all in one go. It was going to be a long night, after all. His stomach growled; he hadn’t had anything to eat for too long. Apparently, he would have to wait a bit longer.

He _would_ get out of here.

He’d eat the biggest steak he could get and get a whole crate of beer to wash it down.

Jay tried his best to focus on these thoughts. It was all he could do to ignore the steady ache of his torso whenever he moved or the hammering inside his head when he looked at the flickering light for too long. He knew he should probably get some rest, but he couldn’t bring himself to close his eyes.

He wasn’t scared. Just cautious.

He forced himself to walk across the room. He couldn’t afford to fall asleep. He had to keep his body alert and his muscles awake.

Just cautious.

Jay didn’t know how much time had passed when he reluctantly had to use the bucket again, for its intended purpose this time. After that, he retreated as far away from it as possible, trying to calm the uneasy feeling in his stomach.

The lightbulb flickered again. He pressed his eyes shut. His knees buckled and he let them; he sat down, back and head against the wall, he couldn’t afford to be tired but maybe, just for a minute or two -

_Blood on the concrete. The taste of iron in his mouth. Screaming, so much screaming, his ears are ringing. Voices, hands on his arms, his shoulders, shapes before him, blurred, moving, he can’t speak._

_Blood. So much blood._

_So much screaming._

_He can’t breathe, he can’t speak, there’s blood in his mouth, in his throat, iron taste on his tongue and he’s drowning, drowning, someone please –_

Jay woke with a gasp. Curled on the floor, fingers scraping against the concrete as if he was digging sand, he squinted against the flickering light at the ceiling. He pushed himself into an upright position, groaning as his body protested once more. He was shaking, his skin was cold. Mechanically he wiped his hand across his face.

It came away wet. It didn’t surprise him, he was used to it.

And red.

That did come as a surprise. He realized he must have bitten his tongue in his sleep. The taste of iron… he knew that taste. He knew how it felt to have blood on his face, in his mouth, his own, someone else’s, the taste was the same.

His own blood didn’t make him want to throw up.

Jay clenched his teeth and took deep breaths. Inhale – one, two three – exhale – one, two, three. He knew the procedure. They’d told him to breathe through it, think of something else, and he’d smiled and nodded and screamed on the inside, there was no breathing through it when you could still taste the blood of a kid on your tongue, six months after the bomb had torn the body apart, but sure, he’d breathe, for a minute, a day, a year.

He pulled his shirt tighter across his shivering body, but to no avail. There was no going back to sleep, so Jay paced the room once more. Anything to keep his blood running and the blurry images out of his mind.

It wasn’t the first nightmare and it wouldn’t be the last. He never knew what would trigger them. Sometimes they left him in peace for weeks, months even; sometimes they had him tossing and turning in his bed for three nights straight, always waking with a jolt and tears streaming down his face.

Maybe he should consider himself lucky that at least today he hadn’t woken up screaming.

He counted his steps, five along the wall, then four past the door, five and then four. The lightbulb flickered every three hundred steps. He stopped counting after one thousand.

His headache eased. It was the small things, he told himself. Broken ribs he could handle, even in combat. Anything to get his partner out alive.

And maybe himself, too.

* * *

Jay lost track of time. At some point he allowed himself another try at shutting his eyes, he dozed off a couple of times, though he never relaxed enough to fall asleep.

And eventually the door handle moved.

“Hands behind your back.”

Jay stared down the barrel of Kris’s gun, frozen for a moment, blinking at the natural light like a deer in the headlights.

“I won’t ask twice, asshole.”

Another man followed, pistol in hand, and Jay obliged, slowly, hoping to keep his face stoic when Kris tied his hands behind his back, although his wrists still burned from the last time.

But then Kris came up front, another piece of tape in his hands. Hell no. Jay struggled with all he had, kicking out at the other man, somehow the idea of his mouth taped shut sent him reeling.

“Don’t you dare, you fu-“

A sharp pain at the back of his skull sent the darkness again, closing in at the corner of his vision, and then he couldn’t speak at all. He stumbled when he was pushed forward. The iron taste was back, he could feel the blood on his tongue, and he couldn’t spit it out so he swallowed it down.

For a moment he thought he would puke. Not here, not now, he’d choke – the panic crept in, but he mustn’t let it, even breaths, inhale – one, two, three – a door – exhale – one, two –

Erin.

Oh God, it’s _Erin_.

For a second he forgot to breathe entirely. It couldn’t be, no, she was gone. She couldn’t be here. A mirage, surely.

He stumbled onto the couch, grateful to at least land on something soft for a change. He doubted his legs would have lasted a second longer. He blinked once, twice, to turn the blurry shapes into forms.

She was still there.

She was so close.

“Hey… hey, Jay. It’s okay.”

Her hands on his shoulder, on his face, tugging at the tape, all the while ignoring the men around them, and then he took a shuddering breath.

“Erin.”

It was all he could say, and maybe it was all he _had_ to say. She spoke, a promise, and he believed her for that’s what they did. He’d get her out, she’d get him out, simple as that.

The cock of the gun clicked, and she was gone.

His head was throbbing; the darkness was close, playing with him, creeping in on the periphery of his vision, then retreating so he could see her. Fearless, brave, stupid Erin. He followed her exchange with Derek. Tried to find out if she had any weapons. Tried to figure out her plan. Voight’s plan.

Kris returned. His words sank in slowly. The plan had failed.

“Do him first, and make her watch.”

The implication of those words made his stomach churn, in anger more than in fear. She didn’t deserve this. He knew, deep down, that he should be afraid, but Erin was there.

“Hey, come here,” she said, an unspoken promise behind the three words.

They would get out of there. This was not their time. And by God, he would not let her watch him die. She would not have his blood on her hands, not after everything, not when she’d come back for him. A subtle nod, then Derek roughly pulled him away.

A split second later, all Hell broke loose.

Instinct kicked in when Jay heard his partner fighting; he slammed his shoulder into Derek, making him stagger. A headbutt, a knee to the stomach, it was all he could do with his hands tied behind his back. He ignored the little voice that warned him that he didn’t stand a chance. It didn’t matter. It was all he had to offer to keep him away from Erin, to give her a chance.

He used his full body to bring Derek down, grunting in pain as his bruised torso crashed into Derek again. The man didn’t fall, though, and then Derek’s fist smashed into the side of his face. Jay cried out, almost crashing to his knees. From far away he heard the muffled sounds of the other fight, and it was all he needed to regain his footing. He charged at Derek again, it didn’t matter anymore. Derek’s fist came flying, stars exploded before Jay’s eyes as he crashed onto the floor. White hot pain flared up in his back and arms, he couldn’t breathe. Shouts behind his back, Erin’s voice, and Jay scrambled to his feet; he could still give her a chance.

He thought he could hear his jaw crack when Derek hit again.

His vision was swimming. He kicked at Derek’s ankle, the only movement he could will his body to do, and he saw Derek stumble, but he knew it was over. He tried, weakly, to get back on his feet, but he couldn’t find the strength. He was oddly aware of the trail of blood running dry on the side of his face.

He’d never thought it would end this way.

A shot rang out.

Jay watched, mesmerized, as Erin pointed a gun at Derek. He registered the blood that soaked her shirt, and his breath caught in his throat. Not hers, he thought desperately, it’s not hers. Can’t be. She can’t get hurt, not on my watch. 

“Don’t move, you’re under arrest!”

Jay saw Derek flinch, shirt stained with blood; he opened his mouth to shout out a warning, but his broken cry was drowned out by gunshots, one, two, three, four – exhale.

Everything was a haze. Derek collapsing to the ground. The dead body of Kris, the pool of blood underneath him. Erin lowering her weapon, blood on her neck, her shirt, her hands. There were voices behind the door, familiar voices, he could hear them although the echo of the shots was still ringing in his ears.

“Jay?”

There was a crack in her voice that he’d never heard before. All of a sudden exhaustion took over. He nodded weakly, allowing his body to drop to the side to take the pressure off his arms. He watched as she turned around, made a few steps and opened the door. People stormed in, blocking her from view, and just like that she was gone. Come back, he wanted to say, but he was still on the floor and she was out of reach, again.

He groaned when someone pulled him upright. Adam.

“Jay, damnit Jay, are you alright? I’m so sorry, man –“

“Just… cut me lose.”

“Yeah, sure, hang on. Kev, knife!”

Atwater was by his side in a second, tugging at the tape; Adam had both hands on his shoulders. Jay couldn’t suppress the quiet whimper as the tape was pulled from his wrists, but both men had the decency not to react. Adam ran a hand down the back of Jay’s neck. He could see that it took all of his friend’s willpower to not look at his bruised body. Suddenly he felt sick. Exposed.

“God, Jay, I’m so sorry, if I’d been there –“

“It’s okay.”

Maybe Adam would have resisted longer. Maybe Adam wouldn’t have screamed.

“Paramedics are outside, they’ll check on you, you’re –“

“I said it’s okay, Ruzek!”

His head was ready to burst out of his skull. Every intake of breath felt like knives twisting in his flesh. But somehow, nothing hurt more that the pity in his friend’s eyes. 

He allowed Kevin to help him up. If he was honest, he appreciated the support; he didn’t fully trust his legs, so he leant on his colleague while trying to regulate his breathing.

He was okay. He just needed a beer, a nap and a handful of painkillers. In which order so ever.

“Halstead.”

He lifted his head as Hank approached.

“I’m okay.”

“Sure, I see that.” Hank made a moving gesture with his chin and Kevin let go of his arm. Jay was left face to face with his boss. He found it hard to look him in the eye. He felt the need to apologize for this mess, after all, he’d screwed up in the first place, and then Hank and probably the whole department had witnessed his weakness, and he had to send Erin and she almost, almost –

“You did good.”

“Not good enough,” Jay replied bitterly. Had he done better, the whole mess would have ended at the airport. Had he done better, he would have lasted longer.

He registered that Hank had steered him into a corner of the room. Everyone else was suspiciously busy processing the scene.

“Listen to me. You know I’ll never ask you to talk about it. Anything. I know you keep that shit to yourself and that’s fine. You know why? Because I trust you to do your job and do it well. These last twelve hours? You did a great job. None of this is on you. It was my decision to send her in. Cause I knew you’d have her back.”

Jay flinched. He craned his neck so that he could spot her in the crowd, but Erin was nowhere to be seen.

“So do me a favor and let them check on you. I need you on the team, and I need you whole.”

As if that was so easy. But still he nodded obediently. He was grateful that Hank didn’t ask any questions. There weren’t many, anyway. He knew the important bits, after all.

“I guess I’ll go find the paramedics.”

He turned and made his way towards the door.

“You really did good, Jay.”

There was a softness in Hank’s deep voice that Jay didn’t recognize. To his horror, he felt his eyes starting to burn. He resisted the urge to press his hand against his aching ribs. He ground his teeth as he walked, purposefully taking even strides although his head pounded with every step.

He would be okay, somehow, eventually.

**Author's Note:**

> Work was inspired also by "Payment in Full", fantastic story, I wish we could have had this as a Chicago Med crossover. 
> 
> I'm not a native speaker, if there's any horrendous mistake please let me know, my written English is getting a bit rusty.


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